Shadowshaper Legacy Read online

  “Magnificent…. A world that readers cannot help wanting to live in.” — Holly Black, New York Times Book Review

  “Older’s book is a first-rate example of how representation, diversity, and themes of social justice and identity can be skillfully woven into a narrative — not so that they disappear, but so that the story pivots on them in a way that is authentic, exciting, and ultimately satisfying.”

  — Cory Doctorow, Boing Boing

  “The strength of Older’s tale is in his meticulous attention to the details of the life of a brown-skinned, natural-haired Puerto Rican teenage girl. Older’s storytelling is rich … this is a world that will stay with readers long after the last page.”

  — Los Angeles Times

  ★ “Warm, strong, vernacular, dynamic — a must.”

  — Kirkus Reviews, starred review

  ★ “Excellent diverse genre fiction in an appealing package.”

  — School Library Journal, starred review

  ★ “What makes Older’s story exceptional is the way Sierra belongs in her world, grounded in family, friends, and an awareness of both history and change.”

  — Publishers Weekly, starred review

  ★ “Smart writing with a powerful message that never overwhelms the terrific storytelling.”

  — Booklist, starred review

  “Older not only gives readers a diverse cast, but he stays true to their background, language and community, lending an authenticity to his work…. If you’re a YA urban fantasy reader looking for something creative and different, try Shadowshaper on for size.”

  — Romantic Times Book Reviews

  “Exactly the kind of title Walter Dean Myers charged his peers to pen at the onset of his career and the kind of narrative he was still imploring publishers to fete in the twilight of his life, one that takes young readers, their unique needs and their racial and cultural realities seriously. Shadowshaper would make him proud.” — Washington Post

  “Joyful and assertive and proud, and makes me want to read everything else of Older’s, for more of these voices, connections and lives.” — National Public Radio

  “Sierra Santiago is the type of character we’ve all hoped we could have in YA.” — Bustle

  “Daniel José Older is one of my favorite new voices, and I can’t wait to see what he (and Sierra) come up with next.”

  — Anika Noni Rose, star of Dreamgirls and The Princess and the Frog

  “I highly recommend Shadowshaper…. It is exceptional in a great many ways.” — Debbie Reese, American Indians in Children’s Literature

  “One of my favorite books of the year, period.”

  — Rebecca Schinsky, Book Riot

  “Shadowshaper is a game changer.”

  — Flavorpill

  “I turned pages so quickly I got paper cuts.” — NPR

  “Older knows that today’s young people are just as magical as his characters.” — Teen Vogue

  ★ “Older paints a compelling picture of contemporary life for black and brown teens in cities: Afro-Latinx Sierra and her friends deal with police harassment and brutality, both on the streets of Bed-Stuy and at school, themes that feel especially timely and relevant…. Older excels at crafting teen dialogue that feels authentic, and props to everyone involved for not othering the Spanish language. This second volume features a tighter plot and smoother pacing than the first, and the ending will leave readers eagerly awaiting the further adventures of Sierra and her friends. Lit.” — Kirkus Reviews, starred review

  ★ “With the same keen eye for the power of art and a sly commentary on the insidious nature of racism and white supremacy—as well as a deft handle on zippy teenage banter and cinematic pacing—Older delivers a fantastic follow-up to his bestselling Shadowshaper (2015), which not only intensifies the stakes of the first book but expands the scope of his well-wrought, vivid world building…. The expanding cast of well-rounded characters, clearly choreographed action, and foreshadowing of installments to come will have fantasy fans eagerly awaiting more of this dynamic, smart series.”

  — Booklist, starred review

  ★ “Exciting…. Older has upped the ante with this second installment.” — School Library Journal, starred review

  “A stunning sequel that will leave fans clamoring for book three.” — Shelf Awareness

  “Beautifully rendered…. Older has a knack for evoking cultural particularity and evading stereotype, a talent evident in characterization and in dialogue.” — Latinxs in Kid Lit

  “The inclusion of black West Indian/Afro Latinx culture and transformative friendships throughout this book lends a fascinating and refreshing element to a series that already feels wonderfully distinctive, and the inclusion of new and intricate mythologies is sure to keep readers entranced. Newcomers owe it to themselves to read this series in order to appreciate the unique magic in all its forms.” — RT Book Reviews, Top Pick

  “Older takes the idea of fantasy as metaphor and smashes it to bits, bringing us to a Brooklyn steeped in magic that feels utterly real and punch-to-the-gut perilous. A powerful adventure that blurs the line between the real and the imagined in daring, breathtaking ways, Shadowhouse Fall is not only a thrilling hero’s journey, but a magical revolution on the page.” — Leigh Bardugo, New York Times bestselling author of Six of Crows and Crooked Kingdom

  “Brilliant…. A novel about Brooklyn, love, spirituality, family, and something else. Something I can’t even explain but am enthralled by and want more of. This is the beauty and magic of Older’s writing—he leaves us openmouthed and speechless, asking ‘What just happened to me?!’ Loved this book.” — Jacqueline Woodson, New York Times bestselling author of Another Brooklyn and Brown Girl Dreaming

  “Shadowhouse Fall flips and reshuffles principles of light and darkness in stunning revelation after revelation. Older’s vivid ink and prose deftly obliterates any bounds between a tangible and a supernatural Brooklyn. I am still under its spell.” — Rita Williams-Garcia, three-time Coretta Scott King Author Award winner

  “Here is the real Brooklyn: myriad cultural communities caught in the squeeze and pressure of gentrification, and of course, the shadows and perils of the undead—and the tough, wise, and lovable Sierra Santiago is there to navigate us through it all. Older is a brilliant storyteller, and with sharp, smart, and hilarious dialogue and prose, Shadowhouse Fall is a fresh, enthralling speculative novel for readers of all ages.” — Brendan Kiely, award-winning co-author of All American Boys, and critically acclaimed author of The Last True Love Story

  For Anika, brave and brilliant

  CONTENTS

  PRAISE FOR SHADOWSHAPER AND SHADOWHOUSE FALL

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  MAP

  THE DECK OF WORLDS

  ONCE, A VERY, VERY LONG TIME AGO…

  PART ONE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  ONCE, A VERY LONG TIME AGO…

  PART TWO

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  ONCE, A VERY LONG TIME AGO…


  PART THREE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  ONCE, A LONG TIME AGO…

  PART FOUR

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  FORTY-SIX

  FORTY-SEVEN

  FORTY-EIGHT

  FORTY-NINE

  FIFTY

  FIFTY-ONE

  FIFTY-TWO

  FIFTY-THREE

  FIFTY-FOUR

  FIFTY-FIVE

  FIFTY-SIX

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  FIFTY-NINE

  SIXTY

  SIXTY-ONE

  SIXTY-TWO

  SIXTY-THREE

  ONCE, NOT SO VERY LONG AGO…

  EPILOGUE

  SIXTY-FOUR

  SIXTY-FIVE

  SIXTY-SIX

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COPYRIGHT

  Once, a very, very long time ago, when the stars seemed so close and the trees and soil still sang songs of that first act of creation, a girl within the walls of a great palace made a deal with Death.

  I know what you’re thinking: These things never go well. And you’re right — they don’t. In some ways, this one was no exception. But of course, the truth is in the telling, and it all depends on whom you ask.

  She was a small child with brown skin, curly black hair, and dark eyes, and she was fierce — the eighth-born and most unexpected child of a magnificently gaudy and extremely powerful sorceress, who also happened to be a countess.

  Of the seven who had come before her, three had died — one turned to stone soon after being born; one was too curious, scaled the palace tower when she was only five, and plummeted into the forest below; one went rooting around in La Contessa’s potion cabinet, and they never even found the body.

  But the reason this eighth child was so unexpected, you see, was that her father had died horribly two years before she was born. This of course meant that he wasn’t her father at all, no matter how many times La Contessa insisted he had been to the guests at her lavish dinner parties.

  The truth, which everyone around knew and almost no one dared to say out loud, was that one of the indentured servants, Santo Colibrí, was the real father. Santo Colibrí was a man known far and wide as a healer and one of the greatest singers of all time, a man whose voice could call forth the gods from the heavens and persuade the trees to lower their branches when he passed so they could get a better listen to those sweet, sonorous melodies.

  His grandparents had been taken from the Congo, but they escaped when they reached this faraway island and found their freedom in the mountains.

  No one was surprised that Santo Colibrí had made a baby with the powerful widow in the palace. Everyone was surprised that she’d let the baby live.

  Ha!

  Let the baby live. As if it were up to her.

  The truth was, she’d done everything possible not to, but all her immeasurable powers, and they were great indeed, proved not to be enough to take on this small girl and her famous singing father.

  Well, let’s expand that circle a bit, shall we? They may have been the final line of defense, but it was really the other servants — two cooks, a gardener, and one of the guards (of all people!) — who had sabotaged the first, oh, six or seven attempts. You see, Santo Colibrí had a good handful of lovers and more than a few close friends on the palace grounds, and once it became clear what La Contessa was up to, which is to say, once she missed her first monthly, well, everyone got to work.

  Selena the cleaning woman, also quite an herbalist in her own right, switched out the potions in La Contessa’s cabinet that she would’ve used to abort the fetus for ones that would help it gain access to the mother’s powers.

  When La Contessa sent scorpions skittering into the newborn’s nursery, Parada, the gardener, picked them off one by one, and it was El Tuerco, one of the palace guards that La Contessa had brought all the way from Spain, who fought off a local drunk that had been paid to break onto the grounds and strangle the young girl in her bed.

  On and on it went, and as the botched infanticides added up, La Contessa became enraged and paranoid (to be fair, she had every reason to be — at least half her staff was working against her). (To be even fairer, they had every reason to be — she was, after all, trying to murder her own daughter.)

  The dinner parties became strained events, as La Contessa rattled on and on somewhat incoherently about vague goings-on in political events back in Europe — mostly failed assassination attempts and coups in places no one was sure really existed. One by one, all the high-society expatriates stopped making the trek out into the woods to visit, and the palace became a kind of deserted hideaway, haunted by La Contessa; her three strange, pale daughters; her one unmurderable brown daughter; and the servants.

  Of course, the townspeople made up stories about the palace: that it was cursed, that monsters lurked within, that those strange lights in the tower were La Contessa sending out signals to other witches around the world. Most of them would become true eventually, even if they weren’t at the time.

  But La Contessa was not one to give up easily. Or at all, really. Her tenacity and wit had earned her a place in the high court back in Spain, and that same tenacity and wit had gotten her exiled and nearly beheaded, and either way, she had no intention of stopping now. She’d been alive for a very long time, much longer than her moderately middle-aged appearance belied, and she’d studied under some of the greats, and she still had a few tricks up her ridiculous, puffy sleeves.

  She stormed up to the tower one night in a fit of impatience and rage. At this point, it wasn’t even about saving face or keeping secrets no one believed anyway — it was the principle of the thing. How dare a mere child resist death so many times, when death was La Contessa’s will! It would not do to have her powers so challenged by one so small. The girl was six now. She had made friends with everyone in sight except her own sisters, and she seemed to be charmingly oblivious to her powers.

  There was, perhaps, a small seed of admiration in La Contessa’s grim and twisted heart as she entered the tower room and set about her sorceries.

  If the girl refused to die, then perhaps Death himself would have to be summoned to handle the matter. It was downright unnatural, after all. Who better to right such an egregious wrong?

  It was a windy night, and everyone knows Death loves the wind. La Contessa prepared everything, and then waited till the clocktower in town struck midnight. Then she began to conjure, to pull, to sing and carry on with such a frightening cackle and howl that townspeople all over El Yunque looked around in terror and held their loved ones close.

  Of course, nothing happened.

  Not at first anyway.

  You don’t just call up Death. Even if you’re a wise and powerful sorceress — Death isn’t one to just come when called. He’s not some common street dog, after all. He’s Death.

  But La Contessa was, as you’ve seen, arrogant, and unwieldy, and probably more than a little bit lost in her own sauce by this point, if we’re being honest. She didn’t just believe the rumors about herself, she’d started most of them.

  As the night wore on and on and on, and it became increasingly clear that not only was Death not coming, but none of his mighty denizens or fang-gnashing servants were either, well … you can imagine. An even more terrible clamor emerged from the tower, echoed through the valley over the treetops, and ricocheted across the forest-covered mountains, all the way to Aguadilla and as far east as Ceiba.

  Then, because as anyone who has lived and died knows, Death has a sense of humor, as the sun began to rise over La Contessa’s groveling, weeping form, a cool zephyr whipped
through the room at the top of the tower. La Contessa looked up, and she must’ve appeared something like Death herself — makeup smeared, her face twisted into an almost inhuman scowl of disappointment.

  But there in the still gray twilight stood the towering empty visage of Death himself, that rictus grin just visible beneath the drooping cowl.

  Please, La Contessa said, but it was really a demand. Please, take that foul creature who is my daughter! I beg you. I have been your devoted servant for so long, I remain so today. I ask only this of you, Death. Complete the work that I have started.

  Death, being Death, said nothing, only nodded very slightly and then was gone, with what La Contessa could’ve sworn was the slightest chuckle.

  That morning, when La Contessa walked wearily down from her tower, the nursemaid Altagracia, one of the few palace servants who’d remained loyal, came running over in tears. It was Angelina, La Contessa’s firstborn child — she had died in her sleep.

  La Contessa sunk to her knees, raising both hands over her head. She ordered that the corpse be dressed in her finest gown and laid in state in the chapel, and then she stood, turned around without another word, and marched back up to the tower.

  One must be specific when speaking to Death. La Contessa knew this. She had let her frustration and the long night get the best of her. She had made a terrible mistake. But that only strengthened her resolve. She would figure out what to do about Angelina later. Now she needed revenge.

  She spent the day preparing and mixing up new potions, and when midnight came around once again, La Contessa commenced another night of awful howling and carrying on, and the whole island of Puerto Rico trembled and looked off toward the dark rain forest and wondered.

  Many nightmarish tales were conceived in those two terrible nights. Most of them would become true eventually, even if they weren’t at the time.

  Death seemed somehow proud of himself on that second daybreak. That smile seemed just a little wider, his back a little straighter.

  La Contessa ignored it. What good would it do, getting mad at Death himself? None. The mistake had been hers, and hers alone.

  La bastarda, La Contessa said. Take her. And then, because she knew the power of names and what they could do, she closed her eyes and whispered the words she hadn’t spoken since the child was born: María Cantara. Take her.